Lamb Chops and Potatoes

There’s a niceish sit-down place near campus that you’ve been meaning to scope out—if the food and atmosphere’s good, you figure this could be a fine closing date before you bring someone back to your room for the big deed.

The decor is tasteful, with lots of heavy oak and glass fixtures; the room itself is dimly lit enough that you almost miss the host on the way in.

“How many will it be today?” the man asks. His hair is slicked back and combed in a way that reminds you of times gone by, and you’re about to answer “Just one”, when you spy a lone blonde figure sitting by the front, browsing the menu.

Jeanne looks up, sees you, and her eyes light up.

“I’ll be joining the lady over there,” you say, pointing at her.

“Sir, I’m afraid she’s dining alone; I can’t let you—” the host begins, but you’ve already brushed past him and taken a seat at Jeanne’s table.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll get rid of this man immediately,” the host says, reaching down for his phone, but Jeanne shakes her head.

“No, no, he’s a friend, for real,” she says, and the host gives her a questioning look. At Jeanne’s insistence, he finally backs away, leaving the two of you alone.

“Its so good to see you!” Jeanne gushes. “Like you know, it’s only been a day or so, but still, it’s so cool to see you…”

“Hey, who would have thought we’d both be here for a late night meal?” you ask, saving her before she can say anything more embarrassing.

“Oh yeah, so this is actually my second dinner tonight,” Jeanne says embarrassedly as the waiter comes around. You both order—Jeanne goes for the ravioli, while you quickly flip through the menu and pick the lamb chops.

“Wait, second dinner?” you ask, confused. “Is this… like something that you usually do?”

“No, no, oh god, you must think I’m a pig,” Jeanne says. “Um… so I’m still kind of behind on my duties for the newspaper, and the Grey wants somebody to review this restaurant, and like, I need all the good faith I can get right now, you know? So here I am, haha. Um… so why are you here so late?”

“Had a lab section into soccer practice,” you shrug. “Wednesdays kinda suck for me.”

“Oof, that’s brutal,” she says her shoulders coming up a bit as she winces.

“Yeah…” you say, and then it’s your turn to laugh in embarrassment as your stomach lets out a soft growl. “I hope the service is fast. But on the subject of the Grey—so sorry that I couldn’t help you out yesterday!”

“It’s all gucci, I managed to snag somebody else for an interview right after you left, so it all worked out,” Jeanne says.

“Oh, did you just happen to run into another semi-notable producer hanging around?”

“No, no, haha, that would have been too much,” Jeanne laughs. “No, I struck up a conversation with a guy, and guess what? He happened to be both an underwear model for Hamilton and Hare, and a tech entrepreneur with a start-up valued at twenty-five million!”

“Good lord, who could that be?” you ask, shaking your head in disbelief. The student body at Stonewall is hand-picked to be impressive, yes, but even this reads as a little much.

“Jack King,” Jeanne says, scrolling through her phone for a photo as you feel a sinking feeling in your chest. As she turns to show you the artfully taken headshot, you bite down the curse on your tongue. Yep, it’s that Jack. Fuck, he’s an underwear model? Why is he an underwear model? “He’s hot, yea?” Jeanne says, fawning over the photo.

“Ahem…” you clear your throat, and she looks up at you, embarrassed.

“… kinda like you,” she adds as an afterthought, and then she puts a hand over her mouth, mortified that she just let that slip.

“So, how’s the food? You’re meant to be reviewing right?” you say, pretending to ignore her comment. Inside, though, your ego purrs at being stoked. Jeanne is good for your self-esteem.

“Oh yea, um… it’s p decent, good mouth-feel ya feel?” Jeanne says, through a mouthful of ravioli. You crack a smile, and nod, taking a bite out of your lamb-chop. They really know how to get the taste out of the cut of meat.

The two of you chat the next hour away, slowly picking away at the food, and it’s reluctantly that you hug her goodbye, leaving a parting peck on her cheek (watch how her cheeks flush!) that snags you a number and a promise for a future encounter.

Jeanne +25